


That Makes Him a Hero

by FlintMcC



Category: Victoria (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 16:17:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17410145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlintMcC/pseuds/FlintMcC
Summary: The Duchess of Buccleuch has some interesting things to say to Lord Alfred Paget





	That Makes Him a Hero

The Duchess of Buccleuch had told him to go to his room and compose himself, but Lord Alfred Paget’s eyes were so brimful he was hardly able to see to get to his room. Once there, he locked the door and sat down on the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands.

Edward Drummond dead? It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. And yet it was. And the last time they had seen each other—the last time Lord Alfred would ever see Edward—it had not ended well. Drummond had left angry. Now he was dead. It just couldn’t be borne. With that, Lord Alfred gave way to wrenching, soul-shattering sobs. When he had exhausted himself with sobbing, he lay face down on the bed and fell asleep, dreaming of Edward.

He was awakened by a sharp rap on the door. He wanted no company, but he got up to answer the knock. On his way to the door, he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. He, Lord Alfred Paget, who was always impeccably turned out, looked a mess. His hair was unkempt, his eyes were red, his face was puffy, his cravat was askew, and his coat was wrinkled. The rap came again, this time more peremptory. Lord Alfred opened the door to find himself facing the Duchess of Buccleuch. He said nothing, merely stood looking at her. After some moments, the Duchess, with a hint of exasperation in her voice, said, “May I come in?”

“Of course, Duchess.” He stepped back to allow the old woman to enter.

Briefly the Duchess surveyed the room with a critical eye. “I would have expected them to give a man of your position a more luxurious room.”

The shock of Drummond’s death seemed to have driven all good manners out of Lord Alfred’s head.

“May I sit down?” the Duchess asked, again with that note of exasperation in her voice.

“Oh! Yes! Of course! I _am_ sorry, Duchess!” Lord Alfred replied. He ushered the Duchess to an upholstered chair, and she seated herself.

“Sit!” she commanded. Like an obedient puppy, he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Young man,” said the Duchess, leaning on her stick. “I have three things to say to you.”

“Yes, Duchess?”

“First, remember that you are a Paget.”

“Duchess?”

The Duchess leaned forward. She continued, “The Pagets have served the Crown of England since the reign of Henry VIII. Oh, yes,” she raised an eyebrow. “I know my history as well as the next, and probably better than most. You, Lord Alfred,” she said, “will not disgrace the honorable name you bear by any unseemly behavior. You will wash your face, comb your hair, put on clean clothes, and go about your duties as usual.” In a slightly kinder tone, she added, “No matter how much you are grieving.”

“Yes, Duchess.” Lord Alfred lowered his head and looked at the floor.

“Now then,” the old woman pursued, “How did Mr. Drummond die?”

“He was shot.” Lord Alfred looked up. He felt his throat constrict.

“And what was he doing when he was shot?”

“He was leaving the House of Commons.”

“And?”

“I’m sorry, Duchess, but I don’t. …’

“Young man, have you completely lost your wits?” the Duchess interrupted him. Again there was that tone of exasperation in her voice. She leaned on her stick. “Mr. Drummond died throwing himself between that madman and Sir Robert Peel.”

“Yes.”

“And what does that make him?”

Lord Alfred wanted to say “Dead,” but he held his tongue.

Without waiting for a reply, the Duchess pounded the floor with her stick. “He gave his life to save the life of the prime minister.” Again she pounded the floor with her stick for emphasis. “That makes him a hero.”

“A hero,” Lord Alfred repeated.

“A hero.” Again the old woman’s voice took on a kinder tone. “Your … friend died a hero. Remember that.”

“Yes, Duchess.”

At the thought of Edward Drummond dying a hero’s death, Lord Alfred’s eyes filled with tears, and the Duchess noticed. Again the stick pounded on the floor. “No more tears, Lord Alfred!” she ordered.

It took an effort, but he held back his tears.

The Duchess stood up, and so did Lord Alfred.

“Now, young man, I have one final thing to say to you.” She put a hand on his arm. The old voice turned quiet. “I’m an old woman, and I have lost many loved ones. Allow me to teach you a lesson I learned long ago.”

“Yes, Duchess?”

“When people we truly love pass away, they do not really leave us. They remain with us in our hearts as long as we live.”

Lord Alfred thought about that. He looked at the floor. Then he looked at the Duchess. He smiled a small, weak, smile. Certainly Edward Drummond would remain in his heart as long as he, Lord Alfred Paget, lived. “Thank you, Duchess,” he said. “I’ll remember that.”

“You’re welcome.” The Duchess turned and, not waiting for Lord Alfred, opened the door herself. She was just stepping into the corridor when Lord Alfred called to her.

“Duchess?”

“Yes?”

“May I kiss you? On the cheek?”

“You may.” At her age, a kiss from a handsome young man, even a grief-stricken one, was not to be despised.

Lord Alfred kissed her. Again, he said, “Thank you.”

The Duchess patted his arm. “I’ll see someone brings you a bottle of brandy. You look as though you need it. Just don’t drink too much. The Queen will be expecting you at dinner as usual. And do pull yourself together. You look frightful.”

 


End file.
